


Bleed for me

by Callmepapi



Series: *Whumptober 2020* [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Stabbing, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmepapi/pseuds/Callmepapi
Summary: With one swift movement from Geralt’s hand, the sword flew out of the mayor’s grip and across the room. Though it didn’t make any sound when it hit the floor, Geralt disregarded it and continued with the mayor.Or, Jaskier gets stabbed during an altercation between Geralt and the mayor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: *Whumptober 2020* [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947244
Comments: 4
Kudos: 218





	Bleed for me

**Author's Note:**

> A short one, I know. It feels short anyway.
> 
> Well, this is day one of whumptober. I think it’s a good start.
> 
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated, thank you very much. Enjoy XD

The godling in the woods was named Birk and Geralt found them living in a hole, dug out between some birch trees.

The mayor had informed Geralt that the  _ thing _ in the woods had been tricking his villagers. Had been confusing them to losing their gods-damn mind (if you asked Geralt, they were probably already like that). He made it out to seem like some horrible, conniving fae lived in the forest and was killing all their young.

But it was just Birk. And Birk hadn’t seen blood-shed in their life.

Geralt wasn’t about to show them it now.

So when Geralt came back empty handed, the mayor wasn’t too pleased. He shouted, screamed, but what difference did it make. Geralt had refused to kill the harmless being in the woods that the mayor had wanted dead simply because they weren’t human. What even is human these days? More monster than some…

“That- that  _ thing,”  _ the mayor spat at him. Jaskier stood in the corner of the room, wide eyes trained on the hissing mayor, “ was supposed to be killed! By you. A monster hunter! Do you not vow to do your job, witcher?!”

Geralt hummed, then spoke, “I kill monsters. That  _ thing _ in the woods was a godling. They’re sentient - they can be reasoned with. A  _ monster _ can’t be reasoned with.” In a much lowered voice he whispered, “much like yourself _. _ ”

“What was that?!” The mayor hissed. He swiftly grabbed a dagger from one of his guard’s belts and aimed towards the Witcher, “I’ll kill you myself you foul beast!-” with one swift movement from Geralt’s hand, the sword flew out of the mayor’s grip and across the room. Though it didn’t make any sound when it hit the floor, Geralt disregarded it and continued with the mayor.

A swift punch to the head had him sprawled out like a starfish on the floor, his guards too shocked to do anything, only looking dumbly at each other.

A choked cry sounded behind him and Geralt felt as though his blood had turned to ice when he looked towards the sound; Jaskier, hands clutching the bloody dagger embedded in his own stomach. Blood pouring out of the wound, dripping to the floor. Jaskier gasped and moaned and winced as he tried to apply pressure, but even the slightest shift of his fingers caused immense pain to spread over his entire body and pools of blood to form underneath him.

Geralt rushed over, just in time to help Jaskier as he slid to his knees onto the wooden floor. His breath was quick and shallow. Geralt thought fast. He slipped a gentle hand around the bard’s neck, another under his knees, and gently lifted him up, trying to ignore the heavy ache in his chest when Jaskier moaned at the movement. He rushed out the door, the guardsmen making the right decision to not intervene. He headed towards the healers shop that he saw when they arrived, figuring that it would be a good idea to remember it's location, one of them nearly always ends up getting hurt anyway.

“It's alright, Jaskier, just hold on. You’ll be fine. You know I won’t let you die, right?” The bard sobs then groans, Geralt tightens his grip.

“N-no…. I know.… trus’ you G’ralt.” His eyes are half lidded, face pale and sweaty. Geralt’s running out of time. He speeds up towards the healers and maneuvers jaskier’s limp body so that he can knock on the door. It swings open and the strong smell of rosemary spills out.

“Geralt? What's-” Triss starts.

“Triss?-” Geralt says.

“Hello, ma’am,” Jaskier weakly interrupts, he has a charming smile on his face though the effect is rather watered down, “As you… m-may be able to t-tell… I  _ have _ been stabbed. Your serv...services are n-needed.” Triss nods and moves aside to let Geralt in, his eyes landing on a suitable bed in the corner of the room. Gently, he lays Jaskier down and lets Triss get a look at him.

At this point Jaskier feels as though he’s in the sea, deep underwater and there are voices on the surface, perhaps they’re on a boat. He takes a pained breath, slightly surprised that he can breath under the water, and tries to listen to the voices.

“...too much blood…” and “...don’t just…he’ll die…”

He’s not too sure what they’re talking about. It can’t be him, he feels fine. Wait actually, he doesn’t feel fine. There’s an ache deep down when he breathes. A numb pain in his limbs. There's a burn in his stomach like a fire. He needs help.

He swims upwards, he needs to get above water, he can’t breath! He needs to find help, find someone. He needs Geralt. He tries to shout but his mouth fills with water and no sound gets out, but he tries again because he  _ needs _ Geralt to hear.

Geralt’s panicked. He watches as Triss tries to heal him, pulls the dagger out swiftly and pours a potion into the wound. Blood spills out, soaking his stained chemise even more. There’s a weak moan of Geralt’s name and the Witcher flinches. He doesn’t know what to do. This isn’t part of the job, caring for someone, saving a human's life. Witchers weren’t meant for that, weren’t taught that. His thoughts are spiralling and he’s panicking so he does what he thinks is best and kneels beside Triss to grasp Jaskier's hand on his own. It’s clammy and cold but that doesn’t matter. It’s jaskier’s and it helps.

He doesn’t even notice Triss standing up until there’s a gentle touch on his shoulder, “I’ve done all I can. He should make a full recovery but he’ll sleep for now. I gave him a healing draught that should work overnight. I’ll leave you two alone.” Geralt nods and goes back to watching jaskier. He’s pale, forehead glistening with sweat.

But he’s got more colour than before, and it’s enough to make Geralt breath out a sigh of relief.

There’s enough room beside Jaskier for another person on the bed, so Geralt carefully lies down and wraps a protective arm around Jaskier's chest, wary of his wound. And Geralt closes his eyes and sleeps, the sound of Jaskier’s recovering breaths lulling him into a dreamless night.

  
  



End file.
